


Kith and Kin

by White_Rainbow



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Outbound Flight - Timothy Zahn, Star Wars: Thrawn - Timothy Zahn
Genre: Family, Family Feels, Fanart, Gen, Mitth House, Young Thrass, Young Thrawn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-03-31
Packaged: 2019-03-04 04:02:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13356081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Rainbow/pseuds/White_Rainbow
Summary: Young Thrawn and Thrass adjust to their new home in the Mitth House, and relearn what it means to have Family.





	1. Blood and Bone

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, Nspamc for the amazing artwork to accompany this fic!   
> Follow us on Tumblr!  
> Writer: [White Rainbow](http://white-rainbowff.tumblr.com/)  
> Artist: [nspamc](https://nspamc.tumblr.com/)  
> 

Thrawn charged the training dummy without mercy. The pair of branches he had fashioned into batons slammed against the dummy’s shoulders with a mighty  _thock_! Then, keeping his movements fluid, Thrawn pivoted anticipating a counter-attack. He dropped to one knee and slammed a branch against the dummy’s midsection while blocking a high imaginary attack with the other wooden  _bon’tugee_.

He may not be the tallest among the other three-year-olds in his class, he may not have been the strongest and was still a bit underweight, but speed and maneuverability would be the tools he’d use to win the day. That’s what his Battlemaster, Mitth’orr’nuruodo, had told him and he took that advice to heart.

And that was why he sneaked into the training grounds after hours - to memorize every move the Battlemaster made with his own  _bon’tugee_  .

Mimicking the Battlemaster’s movements, Thrawn rose from his bent knee, preparing to do a 360 degree twirl and slam the batons against the dummy’s exposed neck.

Thrawn had never done this move before. As the world spun around him, he realized too late that such a move was frightfully disorienting. He waved his baton blindly, and missed both marks.

He crashed to the ground, his wrist bending awkwardly as he landed. He only allowed himself a quiet hiss of pain, sucking back the sudden rush of emotion that threatened to cloud his focus. There was no time for tears; there was a lesson that needed to be learned here.

He looked thoughtfully at the training dummy.

There  _was_ a lesson here...somewhere.

But what did he do wrong? It was exactly how Mitth’orr’nuruodo did it.

“That was quite a spill.”

Thrawn scrambled to his feet at the sound of his Battlemaster’s voice. 

His stubby legs struggled to find balance, and he failed to pull back his sleeve as he saluted the elder coming into the training hall.

Mitth’orr’nuruodo came down the stairs and walked across the canvas mat towards Thrawn. He wore his usual deep gray training uniform, accented in maroon and a black cloth belt. Like Thrawn, he was also barefoot, though that was due to the strict rule of no boots in the training hall. Thrawn, however, used any excuse he could to walk around barefoot, a side effect of growing up without proper shoes he supposed.

The bright lights of the training hall highlighted the web of violet scars on the left side of the Mitth’orr’nuruodo’s face. Thrawn had only asked the Battlemaster once before where he got such scars. It was the only time in three months Thrawn had known him that the Battlemaster’s usually easy smile dissolved into something more sullen. Thrawn had immediately withdrawn the question never asked again.

“I am fine, Battlemaster,” Thrawn said, simply.

“So you are,” Mitth’orr’nuruodo replied, with a satisfied smile. “Your form is quite impressive. I have yet to teach those moves in the youngling class, however. Have you been spying on the advanced students’, then?”

Thrawn shifted from one foot to the other, not wanting to correct him that he had actually been observing the Battlemaster’s own training routine. “I already know the forms from my class.”

“And you can execute them to perfection, can you?”

“Yes.” There was no pride in that statement. Thrawn knew he was able to replicate every simplistic move to the point of madness. The Battlemaster knew this as well, Thrawn could tell by the amused twinkle in his scarlet eyes.

“Here for only a few month and already finding my lessons boring,” he said, with an exaggerated sigh. “That just won’t do, now will it?”

Thrawn tilted his head. “Not boring,” he corrected. “Just simple. If it is any…” Thrawn paused. “con...sol...tion…”

“Consolation,” the Battlemaster helped.

“Thank you. If it is any  _consolation_ , the other cadets find your forms to be most challenging.”

“Well,” Mitth’orr’nuruodo laughed. “That certainly does soothe my fragile ego. Thank you, young master Mitth’raw’nuruodo.”

Thrawn observed that Mitth’orr’nuruodo smiled a great deal, more so than other teachers Thrawn had encountered thus far. The Battlemaster was also, by far, Thrawn’s favorite. There was an honesty in his smile and he spoke to all of his students like peers, not underlings. He was exceedingly kind despite being one of the most skilled and deadly Chiss in the Ascendancy. 

“You made yourself  _bon’tugee_? May I see them?”

Thrawn looked down at the knotted branches in his hands for a moment before reluctantly handing them over.

“You know,” Mitth’orr’nuruodo said, turning the roughly shaped  _bon’tugee_  over in his hands. “Syndic Mitth’anni’safis is not pleased with whomever went into the main plaza last night and sawed branches off the Mitth Tree of Memory.”

Thrawn’s eyes dropped to his bare feet. “I needed materials sturdy enough to withstand blows of an opponent.”

“Perhaps next time you shall ask me for weaponry before deciding using Mitth House family heirlooms for your woodworking?”

“Yes, Battlemaster.” Thrawn said, as the Battlemaster handed the weapons back to him.

They stood for several moments in the quiet of the training hall. When Thrawn dared to look up at his teacher, he saw Mitth’orr’nuruodo peering down at him with crossed arms, a stance he took when deep in thought.

“Follow me, Mitth’raw’nuruodo,” the Battlemaster said, finally. 

He guided Thrawn to a small hallway adjacent to the double-doors of the training hall. Walking down a flight of stairs, they came to a room Thrawn was not allowed to enter, nor were any of the students. 

The Battlemaster fumbled through a small ring of keys as he talked. “ _Bon’tugee_ have a unique balance to them, something you won’t be able to replicate in wood without serious skill and the aid of metal weights. If you want to replicate my style properly, you’ll need weapons that will provide the proper balance to carry out the intricacy of the forms.”

“Wait!” Thrawn said, grabbing onto the Battlemaster’s sleeve before he could unlock the first lock. “I am not allowed to use a weapon of a Syndic until I have graduated to the third level. I will be first level until I am at least ten years old.”

Mitth’orr’nuruodo did not move his hand, the key hovering over the lock. “And now suddenly you are a law-abiding member of the Mitth House? Was it not you who defaced the Tree of Memory to make your weapons?”

Thrawn dropped his hand and frowned. “The rules say ‘No Chiss may touch the Tree of Memory.’ I was careful not to touch the wood until the saw freed it from the trunk.”

The Battlemaster grinned. “You and I are too alike in too many ways, Mitth’raw’nuruodo. In any case, yes, you are correct. The law says no cadet is allowed to possess a Syndic’s weapon until their third level. You, however, will not be using these weapons...as a cadet.”

He unlocked the three locks while Thrawn tried to sort out exactly what the Battlemaster meant. The room itself was bare save for one single, large armoire with two heavy oak doors which opened with an angry groan. Weapons of all shapes and sizes hung on leather thongs, tinkling musically against the wooden doors. Polearms and swords both straight and curved were mounted in the belly of the armoire, gleaming and freshly polished. Thrawn marveled at the sheer beauty of them all.

The Battlemaster took a pair of small batons of smooth blackwood from a hook too high for Thrawn to have reached.

“Did you know I also came into the Mitth household from nothing?” Mitth’orr’nuruodo asked, turning to face Thrawn, batons in his hands. “I was not much older than your brother when Thannis found me. In a way he and I are very much like you and your brother, though I believe I have bitten far less people in my life than you have.”

Thrawn gritted his teeth. “I do not like people touching me.”

The Battlemaster smiled. “Indeed, you do not! Though I am pleased you have learned to use your words and not your teeth since you have been here.” He held out the pair of small  _bon’tugee_. “Although a cadet cannot wield a Syndic’s weapon, an heir to a Syndic can. You and I may not be related by blood, Mitth’raw’nuruodo, but I believe we are kindred spirits. If you are comfortable, I would be honored to take you on as a  _tasn’can’t_ , and teach you all that I know.”

“Because I made my own  _bon’tugee_?” Thrawn asked.

“A...bit more to it than that,” the Battlemaster replied. “I see a great potential in you. Already I have noticed you read your opponents far better than my best students in advanced classes. You use weaknesses against them, and play to the strengths of your team mates. You have a warrior’s mind, Mitth’raw’nuruodo, but also the mind of a tactician. All you need is the wisdom to know where and when to use the tools you already possess for the good of our people. 

“It maybe hard to see now, but, the tides are changing in the Ascendancy. It changes like a planet’s rotation, slow and almost without notice. You, however, even at such a young age, have the ability to look to the horizon and notice which direction the world moves. The Ascendancy will need Chiss like you when the time comes, when they are forced to face their destiny.”

Thrawn tilted his head. “Will I be your son, then?”

The Battlemaster shrugged. “Of sorts, I suppose.”

“May Thrass still be my brother?”

“Of course. And nothing would change except now I will be able to mentor you, personally, giving you access to all that I possess. I do not own much, myself, but what I give to you is far more precious: Knowledge. Not things you learn in the dusty tomes of Chiss libraries, but the lessons that exist between what is taken from books and what can be executed with fists. Upholding laws to ensure ‘Security and Stability’ will not save us when the True Danger comes. It will be Chiss like you who will know when it is time to follow the rules, and when it is time to go against them to protect our people.”

“Are our people in danger?” Thrawn asked.

The Battlemaster’s fingers reflexively touched the lightning-shaped scars along his cheek. A tinge of sadness passed over his scarlet eyes for half a moment before vanishing again. “Some may not agree, but yes, Mitth’raw’nuruodo, we are. That, however, is a conversation better suited for another time. Think about my offer, it will always be open to you if you choose to-”

“I accept,” Thrawn said, a thrill tightening in his chest. “May I call you Thorrn then?”

Thorrn smiled broadly. “I would be honored if you called me Thorrn. But I will still be ‘Battlemaster’ in class. No, do not wrinkle your nose at me, there will be no special treatment while you move up the proper ranks of your training.”

“Will you call me Thrawn then?”

“If you like, Thrawn.”

Thrawn held out his small hands, opening and closing them eagerly.

“Congratulations on your first weapons, Thrawn.” Thorrn said as he handed over the  _bon’tugee_. “You will have to think of good names for them.”

The weapons were nearly three times heavier than the branches Thrawn had acquired. He lifted them awkwardly, the leather handles unfamiliar in his small hands. “What did you name your kama?”

Thorrn reached down to the hand-held scythes hanging on his belt. He patted the black handle of the right scythe, its curved vector accented in silver and red. “This is ‘War’.” He then patted the left scythe, red handle spattered with blue and gray paint. “And this is ‘Art’.”

“Why?”

“Another question to be answered in time,” Thorrn said, gently.

Thrawn gave an experimental swing to his new batons, feeling the resistance and weight, guiding Thrawn’s movements as much as he guided theirs. 

“Thorrn?”

“Yes?”

“Are you my father then?”

“We are family. It is important to remember that Family is more than shared blood and bone, for all Chiss are made of such matter. And in any case, titles like that do not mean much to me. Does it bother you?”

Thrawn considered the question carefully. “No. I enjoy calling you Thorrn.”

“And Battlemaster during training,” Thorrn reminded him.

Thrawn nodded and swung the batons, one at a time, then together already growing used to their balanced weight.

“May I call them Blood and Bone?”

Thorrn blinked. “Of course, if it is what you feel.”

A ghost of a smile pulled at Thrawn’s lips. “If we are all made of just Blood and Bone, then my weapons will always protect both.”

Thrawn planted his feet, then with a fierce battle cry he did a twirl, this time letting the weight of Blood and Bone guide his momentum that his wooden batons could not. The move was still dizzying, but through the blur, Thrawn could tell his weapons would have struck true. 

And most importantly, he had managed to stay on his feet.

Thrawn allowed himself a small, satisfied smile, eclipsed by the proud grin of his new mentor.


	2. Stability and Security

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thrass has a difficult time coping with the stability and security offered by the Mitth Household.

By the third month of living in House Mitth, Thrass had managed to find over a dozen hiding places to call his own.

Not that there was any reason for him to hide. 

In fact, the Eighth Ruling Family had been more than generous and exceedingly kind to him and his little brother. 

Yet, Thrass still felt a constant tension within his gut - a taut coil of anxiety ready to be sprung at a moment’s notice. Thrass had used that anxiety as a survival mechanism for most of his life, a tool to always be one step ahead of danger: the hands that hurt, the voices that lie, the weather that froze and burned. 

Logically, Thrass knew he had no need for these survival instincts with his new family.

The hands were kind, and the voices were gentle, and he no longer had to struggle to find shelter for he and Thrawn. 

Thrass was safe. 

And it felt wrong.

So Thrass hid. 

Today, Thrass found a small, circular alcove hidden behind a large, ornamental vase of a budding palm tree. After a little maneuvering, Thrass had managed to slip in behind the heavy vase and curl up within the dark nook. 

Drawing up his knees to his chest, Thrass hugged himself tightly, trying to make himself as small and invisible as possible. As he buried his face in his arms, he let his mind wander back to those days when survival was all he knew. When the world was dangerous, and yet made better sense to him than the safety of this House.

_ “First one to find our new sleeping spot, wins!” Thrass challenges his little brother. He makes sure his smile is wide and enthusiastic.  _

_ Thrawn loves this game, and he is good at finding places for the two homeless children to hide. _

_ Thrass loves the game because his brother’s enthusiasm keeps him from panicking. No shelter meant exposure to sudden storms, to icy blizzards, to hypothermia and pneumonia and death.  _

_ Thrawn finds a spot just big enough for the two of them, an alcove behind a restaurant’s dumpster. The sickly smell of rubbish bins is a fair price for keeping them warm. The stench never bothers Thrawn, but then this is all he knows. Thrass remembers a bed and a locked room...he realizes the dumpster is preferable. _

Thrass’ mind drifted further away into memory.

He remembered holding Thrawn close when nefarious-looking chiss would wander too close to their hiding spots. 

He remembered his little brother’s the death-grip on his shirt when thunder clapped overhead. 

He remembered feeling braver when he had Thrawn to protect. 

Now, Thrawn no longer needed protection. And fear found its way back into Thrass’ heart. 

Tears slid down Thrass’ nose and he muffled his sobs in the crook of his arm. 

A noise echoed in the empty hallway - the soft swish of a Syndic’s robes.

Thrass held his breath. Through the small gap between the vase and wall, he could see ornamental slippers approaching. They were walking directly towards him. 

Thrass pressed his back against the curved wall of the shallow alcove, but there was no escape.

Icy fear washed over him, and he embraced it; the first familiar feeling he had known since coming to this place.

The slippers stopped.

“Shall I keep walking and pretend you are not there? Or would you like some company?”

Thrass’ mind whirled. It was Mitth’anni’safis, his new mentor and the reason he and Thrawn were part of the Mitth House.

_ I’m given the option? So if I say “go away” he will leave without consequence? He will go and I will be alone again. But what if he stays? What does “company” mean exactly? I don’t want to talk about why I cry. Would I have to? I don’t think I want him to leave. _

“Does your silence mean I should keep walking then?” Mitth’anni’safis asked, taking a step away.

Thrass’ first instinct was to stand up. The wrong move. He banged his head painfully against the domed ceiling of the alcove. He hissed in pain and clutched his throbbing head.

Mitth’anni’safis dropped to his knee. The web of wrinkles on the old chiss’ face seemed to deepen with concern. His wire-rim spectacles rested on the edge of his narrow nose as he peered into the alcove. 

“That sounded painful. Are you alright?”

Thrass managed a nod, blinking back tears.

“Well, now I’m afraid I cannot leave you. You may have a concussion or, stars forbid, you got blood all over my nice hiding spot.” With a tired groan, the elder settled himself on the ground, moving his old, spindly legs beneath his robe to sit cross-legged. He stretched his back, and it popped audibly. 

“Your hiding spot?” Thrass asked, wiping his wet cheeks on the sleeve of his robe.

“One we can share, certainly,” Mitth’anni’safis sniffed nonchalantly. “Would you like to tell me why you are hiding?”

Thrass dropped his eyes and said nothing.

“I see. In that case, while you occupy my favorite hideout, could I bother you to hold onto something for me?”

Before Thrass could answer, Mitth’anni’safis set a large, bright yellow bag on the ground, tied with a glittering silver ribbon. Something furry peeked out of the top.

“What is it?” 

“A present.” 

“Oh…” Thrass wilted a little. 

Thrass didn’t trust presents. Presents came with a price, an obligation. Presents meant owing someone, something. 

“You absolutely do not need to take it,” Mitth’anni’safis clarified. “I had one of these when I was a young man who needed to hide from the world around me. I thought, perhaps, it could help you while you heal.”

“I’m not injured,” Thrass said, rubbing the top of his head.

“Not all injuries are bumps on the head, my boy,” the elder said, gently. 

Mitth’anni’safis did not smile often, and most of his words came out a bit cool. Still, there was a calmness to him that Thrass found soothing and honest. Even when he was being stuffy, Mitth’anni’safis was never unkind. To find an adult without such deceptive qualities was something Thrass treasured more than he could ever say. 

“I may not have been a homeless lad like you were, Mitth’ras’safis, but I do know a thing or two about being young and lonely. I hope that he,” Mitth’anni’safis poked the bag, “can help you, like mine helped me.”

Thrass looked at the gift. Then at the elder. Then back at the gift.

Cautiously, reached out of his hideout and pinched the edge of the bag. Fear sparked in his chest as he prepared for Mitth’anni’safis to grab his arm, haul him out, hurt him. The elder did not move. Slowly Thrass tugged the gift towards him. It crinkled and squeaked as it squeezed between the wall and the vase.    
Pulling the bow away, Thrass reached in and grabbed a fistful of white fur, marveling at how soft the material was. 

When he pulled it out, he found himself face-to-face with an angry-eyed, growling-mouthed wampa doll. Its horns were shiny, dark blue cloth and his fur was softer than anything he had ever touched. 

Thrass couldn’t stop grabbing at the fur. Fistfull after fistfull, the plush doll relented to his squeezes then puffed back up again. He pulled at the arms, he tugged at the horns, he gave it a small shake and watched its head bobble. 

He had a doll once. It was taken away for one reason or another. It was so long ago, but Thrass remembered it had button eyes and a wide smile.

For some reason, the scowl on this doll made him love it all the more. 

_ He looks like someone who needs a hug. He doesn’t trust anyone either.  _

Mitth’anni’safis moved away, scooting himself to lean against the wall next to the alcove and out of sight. Thrass could still feel his presence, and it was comforting, but now that no eyes were on him, he gathered the wampa into his arms and hugged it tightly. He buried his face against it, swaying a little, letting his tears disappear into the fur. 

It felt good. 

“How are you adjusting, Mitth’ras’safis?”

Thrass shrugged. Then when he realized the elder couldn’t see him, he murmured. “Alright.”

“You’re an exemplary student,” the elder offered.

“Thank you.”

“I mean that. You far exceed the expectations of most of your teachers. You will do great things here.”

Thrass didn’t respond. The work he was given was not difficult to pick up and he enjoyed all his studies. Most of his worries were focused on Thrawn and his adjustment, but even then, Thrawn seemed to be doing just fine without him. Another tear dripped onto the doll’s fur.

“The Ascendancy needs chiss like you, my boy,” Mitth’anni’safis said. “It is more than just political checks and balances. Those who bear the ‘Safis’ name are those who adhere and protect the laws that make us One People. Stability and Security, this is what we provide.”

_ Stability and Security _ …

Two things that Thrass had never felt in his young life. To be given the opportunity to provide these elements to others, to everyone... 

A sense of purpose swelled within Thrass’ chest.

“Thank you for the wampa,” he said finally. “And...for giving me a chance. I want to be a part of something larger than myself. I will live up to the Safis name.”

Mitth’anni’safis leaned over and looked into the alcove, a warm smile on an ancient face. “I know you will, my boy. So, what shall you name him?”

“Slushy.” The name tumbled out of Thrass’ mouth without a moment’s thought.

“Hello, Slushy.” Mitth’anni’safis gave the wampa a small wave.

With a little assistance from Thrass, Slushy waved back.


	3. Fierce Weapons and Friendly Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thrass and Thrawn return to quarters for the evening with their new gifts.

Thrass carried the wampa doll all the way back to the room, feeling a bit more optimistic about his place in the Ascendancy. 

Gone was the constant chaotic whirlwind of cruelty and danger. Thrass had landed on his feet, on solid ground, and part of a world that stood for tradition and honor. Mitth’anni’safis was on his side, the Mitth House was on his side, and things were going to be okay.

A life like this was something Thrass believed only existed in the fairytales he told his little brother. 

_ And where is my younger sibling _ , Thrass wondered as he returned to his room. 

No sooner did he think this that Thrawn burst through the door, his hands hiding something large and bulky behind his back. He stumbled as he ran. 

“Ras! Look, brother, look!”  

“Thrass,” Thrass corrected. There were times when he missed calling Thrawn ‘Raw’ but they were part of the Ascendancy now and needed to respect their new names.

Thrawn let out an irritated hiss.  “ _ Thrass _ . Look what Thorrn gave me!”

A pair of intimidating black batons were pulled awkwardly from behind Thrawn’s back. He wobbled a little under their weight. “See?!”

Thrass’ jaw fell. “Mitth’orr’nurodo _gave_ you weapons? You are still a first level cadet.”

“He is mintonning me.” Thrawn clarified, proudly.

“Mentoring?”

"Thank you. Yes, mentoring." Thrawn nodded. “He says I can call him Thorrn. He is my...my minter. And I’m his  _ tasn’can’t.  _ You can call him Thorrn, too if you want. He is our family.”

Thrass reeled. “A mentor...Well congratulations, Thrawn. That is an honor.”

Thrawn tilted his head. “What is that?”

Thrass looked down at the soft, plush wampa he still held close to his chest. 

Suddenly, Thrass felt very young and very foolish. “It was...a present from Mitth’anni’safis.”

Thrawn frowned. “Can you not call him Thannis now?”

“I hadn't asked. I don’t believe so.”

Thrawn lowered his batons. “What does it do?”

Embarassment warmed Thrass’ face. “You hug it.”

Thrawn blinked several times. “Why would you want to do that?”

“For comfort, Thrawn.”

Thrawn looked down at his weapons, then back at the wampa. “Does it have a name?”

Thrass truly did not want to answer that question, the name dragged out of him out of resistance to lie to his little brother. “Slushy.”

“Oh...Well, this is Bone!” Thrawn held out his right baton. “And this is Blood.” He held out the left.

“Charmed,” Thrass said, dryly. “Alright, enough of this. Get into your night clothes, Thrawn. We both have school tomorrow.”

Thrawn put ‘Bone’ and ‘Blood’ on the nightstand next to his bed and ran to the refresher to get ready. 

With a sigh, Thrass put Slushy next to his nightstand. The wampa looked as angry and disgruntled as ever. 

It made Thrass smile.

But the smile faltered. 

Any confidence that rose with his sense of purpose was deflated by the reality that Thrass was weak. 

His brother, seven years younger than he, was being mentored by the finest warrior in the Ascendancy. He was given weapons and a promise of training. With that promise came a guaranteed future with the military. 

Thrass, on the other hand, was given a toy because he felt lonely.

Tears came, because of course they did. The thought of crying because he felt sorry for himself only brought on  more tears.

When was the last time Thrawn had cried? It seemed like ages ago...Thrass cried himself to sleep most nights, even after they were adopted by the Mitth House.

He wanted to hug Slushy now. 

He wanted to press his face in its plush body and let go of the anguish that seemed to wrap around Thrass like a heavy blanket. 

Quiet tears rolled down Thrass’ cheeks and he dared not draw in an unsteady breath.

_ Raw has seen enough of my tears to last him a lifetime.  _

Several long minutes passed, and Thrass was just beginning to doze when Thrawn finally left the refresher. 

The soft pitter-patter of his sibling’s feet faded to a stop when he reached his own bed across the room. 

...then the same pitter patter grew louder.

Thrass kept his eyes closed. He could sense his brother close by, but refused to open his tear-stained eyes.

“Hi Slushy,” Thrawn whispered. “I was given new weapons today so I do not need these.” 

Thrass heard a quiet clatter of wood against the table. “Please use them to keep Thrass safe when I am not here. Goodnight, Slushy. It was a pleasure to meet you.”

Thrawn scurried back to his own bed, shuffling noisily under the covers. When the noise finally ceased, Thrass opened his eyes. A pair of wooden batons rested on Slushy's lap. Carefully, Thrass removed them and pulled the wampa off the nightstand and into his arms.

Thrass buried his face against the wampa's fuzzy cheek and squeezed his body tight. 

P eace found him immediately. And sleep came soon after.

He didn’t dream about the chaos, no whirlwind came to take him away, and he was no longer being chased by apparitions of the past.

Instead, Thrass dreamt he was having a tea party with Thrawn, with Slushy, and for whatever reason Thrawn’s batons.  Everyone had a chair to sit upon, even the weapons had a pair of chairs.  Thrawn asked for extra sugar. Slushy wanted cream.

It was the best dream Thrass had had in a long time.

After that night, the nightmares came few and far between.

Then eventually none returned.

Not with Slushy guarding him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading my little series here! I hope to write more loose tales of these two youngsters, and one day a solo story of Thorrn (and how he received his scars).
> 
> Bonus image and outtakes found on tumblr: [Seen here!](http://white-rainbowff.tumblr.com/post/172448519463/kith-and-kin-read-the-complete-series-on-ao3)  
> 


End file.
